The Revolution Never Dies
by Almost an Actress
Summary: Les Miserables and zombies. Could one ask for more? (Lots of romance, lots of darkness, lots of angst, and lots of unrequited-but-eventually-requited love. Also... zombies that bleed blood out of their eyes and are generally annoyed with each other. Is it funny? No, not really. Well... maybe. I don't know. Just give it a read, will ya?) It contains lots of Grantaire's inner angst.
1. The Undead

'**Ello, Mizzies! *Tips top hat* This top hat is on temporary loan from my great friend JackalFoxx, so you will see me with it for quite a while. Guess what? I finally got a copy of **_**Les Mis**_**! *Jumps into the air and flaps wings* It is literally the thickest book I have ever read. (No wonder people call it "The Brick…") Anyway, this FanFiction is inspired by *Starlene on deviantART. They are an AMAZING artist, and they gave me permission to write this Fic. The picture is called "Revolution Never Dies." Look it up, or you won't get the FanFic. I warn you, this is MUCHMUCHMUCH darker than my usual lighthearted, fluffy romances. Be warned.**

** *Puts top hat back on ominously, laughs scarily, and rubs hooves together***

**My "**_**Brainiest**_**" Regards, **

**-Almost Novi**

**XXX**

Cosette had to admit: Sometimes she missed her dear P'pa so much it was a physical pain. Like someone had buried an iron rod in her stomach and twisted it round and round until she was screaming and in tears. She frequently woke up in the nights beside Marius, crying out for her beloved Valjean. Her husband would always wrap his arms around her and whisper comforting things into her hair, murmuring, "It's okay. It's alright. Cosette, I'm here beside you." Those words became a mantra to her over the months that passed since Jean Valjean's passing. And though she missed him with the Iron-Rod-In-The-Stomach pain, her life was also filled with love and light, all from her Marius. He woke each day with a smile on his face, and ended the day just the same. They never fought; only teased lightly now and again. She was more in love than she had ever been. Yes, her husband was her life. And she knew that as much as she loved him, he would always be five times more in love with her.

After all of this tumbled through her mind, she proceeded count aloud. "One… two… three…" and so on. Though her husband carried great sadness, he always managed to find something amusing, dare I day, distracting for the two to do. And on this rainy Paris day, he had proposed a game of hide and seek. While most young women her age would have found the game idle or childish, Cosette always had fun with the games Marius devised. "…Twenty-nine, thirty!" Cosette cried happily. "Whether or not you are ready, here I come!" She got up from her seat by the window and smoothed down her white frock. She first went into the bedroom she and Marius shared, peering into the darkness of the closet and under the bed. She had known Marius to hide in places such as this, and then leap out and scare her. She checked behind the chair that sat in the corner, uneasily eyeing Jean Valjean's shining silver candlesticks. She stroked them both softly, smiling sadly. Turning her attention back to the game, she walked around the small apartment, looking into the nooks and crannies. When had looked in every plausible place, she returned to her seat at the window, puzzled. _I've looked everywhere. Where _IS_ he? _she thought. Briefly, she wondered if he had set up the game to keep her busy while he ran errands or something of the sort, but she dismissed the thought quickly. She went into their room and sat on the bed, crossing her ankles and twisting her braid as she pondered the situation. Finally, she called, "Marius? I give up!" loudly. From beneath the bed, she heard a roar.

"Ahh!" Cosette shrieked, jumping up on top of the bed and slipping on the silky bed sheets. She tumbled down, tangled in the slippery lavender material, while Marius popped out from underneath the bed, fretting.

"Oh, Cosette! Cosette!" he cried, flailing his arms about. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry…"

Cosette growled, trying to untangle herself. She ended up with a lavender bed sheet binding her arm to her neck, and her ankles tied up. "Help me!" the usually soft-spoken woman snapped.

Marius fussed over her, gently untangling her from the sheets. "I'm sorry!" he repeated. "I… I just thought I would spook you…"

Cosette smiled lightly. "Clever Marius," she murmured with a smirk. "Tries to scare his wife and ends up spooking himself!"

Marius flushed. "Well, you didn't find me the first time," he said primly.

Cosette laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Let's not play this game anymore," she suggested. When Marius agreed, they went into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

XXX

"Cosette."

Cosette turned over, brushing her long hair away from her face. "Marius?" she murmured sleepily.

The man sat up in the bed they shared, his body tense and his teeth audibly grinding. "Cosette, listen."

The young woman paused, taken aback by her husband's strange behavior. She wondered if he was having a night fit, dreams of his dead friends coming back to haunt him. Before she could question him, she heard a noise from the streets below. It sounded like men and women singing. It sounded like wooden objects being stacked on top of one another.

It sounded like a barricade was being built.

She gasped. "Marius?" she said.

He turned to her. "Cosette… they're doing it again," he said numbly. "They… they're building another barricade." He shivered, but was smiling. "They didn't die in vain, Cosette!" he shouted, jumping from the bed and quickly dressing. "I… I must help!" He tugged on a pair of breeches and was just about to run out of the door when Cosette jumped up.

She bellowed, "STOP!" Her husband froze like a startled deer. "Marius," Cosette said. "What are you doing?"

He took a heavy breath, some sanity returning to his eyes. "Cosette," he said carefully. "Last year, all of my friends built a barricade. The others abandoned them in the middle of the war, but they kept fighting. And now they're all dead. Joly, Jehan, Enjolras… all of them." He started shaking, and Cosette put her arms around him. He returned her embrace, and kept talking. "If I'm right, people are building a new barricade. And maybe, just maybe… my friends will not have died in vain. Every day I wonder why God chose your father to rescue me, and I burn with guilt for my friends." He looked into Cosette's eyes. He stroked the side of her face, his eyes pleading. "If I can prevent the death of some of these people… I might feel a bit less horrible."

Cosette wanted to object. She wanted to forbid him to go, and make him stay in the safe apartment. But she knew what it felt like to have the people you loved the most die and always wonder why it wasn't you. Jean Valjean had fought at the barricades to protect Marius. Her childhood tormenter, Eponine, had sacrificed herself and saved Marius's life. She had died in his arms. The blonde-haired revolutionary had died holding hands with the drunken cynic. The rest were shot and stabbed with bayonets. Cosette shuddered thinking about it. Marius blamed himself for all of their deaths, especially Eponine's.

Cosette knew that he would never forgive himself, but the guilt could possibly be lifted the tiniest bit if he was able to fight at the barricades. And she knew he would never do it unless she said yes.

She took a deep breath and looked into the eyes of the love of her life. "Go," she whispered. "But on one condition: I go with you."

XXX

When Madame and Monsieur Pontmercy made it outside, they were surprised to find the streets devoid of life. The cobblestones didn't shine with blood as they had one year ago. There was a fully-built barricade in the middle of the street, but no one near or behind it. The windows were all lit, lamps burning in the nighttime. Suddenly, a small beggar boy came running through the streets. "THE LIVING DEAD!" he wailed. He was running so fast he couldn't stop himself, and he crashed into Marius.

Marius knelt down and put his hands on the child's shoulders, stopping him. "Boy, what's wrong?" he asked kindly. The young boy's dirty cheeks were marked with tears, his eyes large and terrified.

"I… I be runnin' though the streets with me mates, when alluva sudden there's this right big scream. I hear me best mate hollerin' 'François! 'Urry up and get outta 'ere!'' I be right confused, but I run with the rest of 'em. The littlest ones 'r only six, so they be as confused as I am. They get t' laggin' be'ind, and… and…" He took a deep breath and collapsed into sobs. "We… we left 'em be'ind!" he wailed. "Be'ind with the living dead!"

Marius was shocked. Under the boy's thick urchin accent, he could make out that his group of friends had left behind a few six-year-olds, but other than that he was utterly confused. "Go on," he said slowly.

"I… I be seein' this woman be'ind us with the six-year-olds," the boy, François, sniffed. "She be 'bout yer age," he said, pointing to Cosette. "She… she ain't right in the head, I can tell by the way she was movin'. She kept stumblin' and crashin' and the like. She be with a few other people. All of em's got the bluest skin. Their eyes is bleedin' blood, and the woman is reachin' 'er fingers towards little Anton. She says in this real croaky voice, 'Gavroche…' Like a name, y'know? I 'memered the name. He was one 'a the boys in our gang, but 'e stopped comin' 'round last year. Got shot or sumfin."

Marius flinched.

"You mean to tell us that the living dead are stumbling around the streets… bleeding out of their eyes?" Cosette asked slowly.

The boy nodded, whimpering. "Save yerselves!" he shrieked, the tears streaming down his face. With that, he ran to one of the houses, banged on the door, and was promptly pulled in by a plump, middle-aged woman. The woman eyed Marius and Cosette, bellowing, "RUN!"

And at that moment, three members of the living dread came dragging themselves through the streets. One had thick, curly black hair. In his skeletal hands was clenched a bottle of absinthe. One of them was a woman with long black hair, wearing a thick brown overcoat and a large beige hat. The last one had long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. He croaked out a single phrase, "Vive la république!'


	2. Love is Complicated

**Hello, fellow miserable(s) people! I apologize for not updating in a while. My muse has somehow jumped out of the window in the night and run off to Paris without me. *Sigh* Well, looks like a have a new muse! So… I'm back. Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated! (Hint-hint.) I now officially ship 'Ponine X 'Parnasse. Because I'm cool like that. Also… the artist of the picture this story is based on drew another picture similar to it. She came up with the song title and idea, and I wrote it. So… you may not use it without m' permission. Let's see… it has no specific tune. **

***Tips top hat***

**My Sincerest Regards,**

**-Almost Novi**

**XXX**

_Enjolras, why can't you Care? (We Died Together)_

_I believed in nothing._

_In my life, all I saw was darkness and despair._

_And then… came you._

_A fire that raged through my life._

_Explosions of your voice screaming:"Revolution!"_

_I believed in nothing…_

_But then I believed in you._

_Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?_

_We died together._

_And you were all I believed in._

_When I was tainted beyond comprehension,_

_You pulled me from the depths of Hell._

_Without you, I would not be on this Earth._

_I owe you my life, Apollo._

_Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?_

_We died together._

_I held your hand and shivered_

_As the guns pointed at us_

_I felt the bullets rip through me, _

_And my last sight was you, _

_Nailed to the wall_

_My Apollo._

_Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?_

_We died together!_

_Oh, Enjolras, why can't you care?_

_ We died together… _

XXX

Being a member of the living dead was odd. He still had thoughts and feelings, and he could speak… albeit with a little slur – and since he was drunk half the time, slurring wasn't abnormal – but still, it was odd. There were some small differences such as the slur and the slight limp he walked with, and then there were major ones: his skin had turned blue, his eyes were bleeding, and his chest was stained a rusty red. He still had all of his hair though, so at least he wasn't some balding corpse. He briefly wondered if Lesgle, the unlucky fool, has turned into one of the living dead as well. Then he would be a balding corpse, whether he liked it or not. Grantaire barked out a laugh. It sounded dry and forced.

"N-noble leader," he addressed the blonde at his left. "Ap-pollo…" He realized that even in death, he had his skeletal-looking fingers wrapped about a bottle of absinthe. He sighed and dropped it. It clattered on the ground, but didn't break.

Enjolras didn't spare Grantaire a second glance. He croaked, "_Vive la république!_" as well as he could.

Grantaire felt like crying. He had died with the blonde for God's sake, and here the man was ignoring him! For whatever reason, he had been brought back from the peaceful slumber of death to hobble around, following Enjolras like an adoring puppy, just as he had in life. There had to be some reason for this, though. _Some divine reason_, Grantaire thought sarcastically. _If there was a God, He'd let me die in peace, alone and worm-eaten. Or maybe, if He was merciful and forgiving, He'd let me live in Heaven with Enjolras. Of course I'm a more likely candidate for Hell, but a cynic can dream, can't he? _Undead Grantaire was snapped out of his thoughts by the woman on his right.

She was dressed in ragged clothing, with her trademark beige hat and men's overcoat. "M-M-M," she stammered, not used to the undead body and the stutter that came with it. "M-M-M'sieur Marius," she stuttered in a gravelly voice, and pointed her blue hand over to where Monsieur and Madame Pontmercy were currently clutching each other and shivering with fear.

"Indeed," Enjolras confirmed, his speech now smooth and flawless. He had gotten used to the form of the undead – along with all of its flaws and quirks – long before Grantaire or Eponine. At the rate Eponine was going, it didn't appear that she would learn anytime soon.

Grantaire sighed with anger. Even in death, Enjolras could adapt to any situation with the ease and grace of a god. "Ap-pollo," Grantaire tried again, doing his best not to stutter.

Undead Enjolras finally turned to look at Grantaire. His empty eye sockets burned with impatience. "Quickly_, mon ivrogne_," he rasped.

"It s-seems that your v-v-voice rasps when you are an-an-annoyed," Grantaire teased.

Enjolras's face softened a bit, and he wiped the blood from his cheeks. "I am not annoyed," he said. "Simply baffled. After all, I've been resurrected. And you as well! There must be some reason for this!"

Grantaire felt his heart skip a beat. Or… he would have if he had had a working heart. "A r-reason?"

"We've been brought back to avenge Patria!"

"Are you joking," Grantaire said flatly. He didn't stutter or groan this time, but his eyeballs seemed to leak out more blood with his annoyance. He growled; a truly undead noise.

Enjolras took no notice. Now he looked over to Eponine. She looked confused and out of place… even lonely. Her long, stringy black hair hung limply at her thin shoulders. She was so undernourished and skinny that the large coat practically enveloped her. She tugged the newsie cap lower over her snarled hair and sighed, her empty eye sockets looking for all the world depressed and world-weary. "Eponine," Enjolras said gently. He knew of her love for the Pontmercy chap; everyone with eyes did. _Ironic, considering the fact I appear not to have any eyes_, the blonde revolutionary thought._ At least I can see_, he added to himself. _See, Enjolras? God did give you a gift with this afterlife! You can see, you have all of your hair _– he cared very much about his hair –_ and you can now fight for Patria! _A tiny voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispered: _And maybe you will treat 'Tare better. Maybe you will show him how you feel._

Enjolras shut down that voice very fast.

He turned back to Eponine. Though he didn't exactly know how to talk to women, he did know that comforting the lower class citizens was a civic duty that he must perform. He staggered over to her and patted her shoulder. "Cheer up," he said with a light smile. (This didn't cheer 'Ponine, as the face the smile was on had no eyes and was oozing blood out of the empty holes where the eyes should be.) He wrapped a comforting arm around her (the most awkward and uncomfortable motion the beautiful youth had ever done) and said, "I know you love Pontmercy, 'Ponine. But look at the chap, girl. He is a married man with the love of his life. Look at the way they hold each other. Tell me, 'Ponine… did you ever think he really loved you?" he asked gently.

"In death," 'Ponine rasped. "In death."

XXX

Cosette buried her head in her husband's shoulder. "Marius," she whimpered. "They… they're just standing there!"

Marius tightened his arms around Cosette. "They're… conversing," he murmured.

Cosette looked up from Marius's shoulder. "What… conversing?" she repeated.

Marius gestured over to the three members of the undead. Enjolras, or had been Enjolras, had his hand on the former 'Ponine's shoulder and was trying his best to look comforting. The former Grantaire was off to the side, sporting a scowl and looking like a pouting child. Marius cocked his head. "This is… very odd," he said.

Cosette snapped out of her fear-induced stupor. Here were three blue-skinned members of the living dead, standing just one hundred yards away from her. These three…_ beings_… had died violent, painful deaths for a cause that only one out of the three had believed in. The cynic had obviously chosen to die with Enjolras because of his unsurpassable devotion. 'Ponine had saved Marius's life. And here they were again, conversing like normal people.

"Should we… approach them?" Cosette risked asking.

Marius considered. The undead didn't seem to be presenting danger, per se, and seeing at least some of his dead companions might lift his guilt. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around Cosette and they began shuffling forward slowly. The small blonde woman found herself unafraid, while the sandy-brunette boy found himself very apprehensive; excited yet nervous. It was almost as if it were a dream.

"Grantaire? Enjolras? 'Ponine?" Marius said slowly. "Is it really you?"

Eponine shrugged out from under Enjolras's arm. She wiped the blood from her eyes with the hem of her sleeve and smiled. She bobbed her head in greeting. "M'sieur Marius," she acknowledged. She turned to Cosette. "Madame Cosette," she said gently.

And suddenly Marius had lunged forward and enveloped Eponine in an embrace. He hugged the dead gamin for all he was worth, nearly cracking her ribs. "Oh, 'Ponine, 'Ponine," he repeated over and over. "Oh, I'm so sorry, my 'Ponine."

Eponine was utterly shocked. Here Marius was… hugging her. And calling her his. And apologizing. And that was when she felt some sort of divine transformation within her unbeating heart. _Marius would never love her. _He never had, and he never would. She had found his beloved when no one else could have, and she had died saving his life. Without that, Cosette would have never found her husband, and Marius would be among the dead. She had sacrificed her happiness, her very _life_, and still Marius would never love her. But it wasn't because she was some dirty gamin, as she had previously thought. It was because his heart belonged to another. _He will never feel this way_, she thought, and gently pushed his back. "I m-made my choice," Eponine said confidently. "I regret nothing."

And that was when a certain black-haired dandy came along and ruined everything.

**Well, that was that! Spring break is winding down. DX I'll try to get in another update for some story. I don't think I'll continue this one unless I get more reviews though. I dunno. **


End file.
